Angelo Moretti, the mafia king, stormed through the sterile halls of St. Augustine’s, his coat trailing like a storm cloud. His world once cold, controlled was unraveling with every step.

She was the reason.

He found her broken in the hospital bed, bruised, bloodied, his name still on her lips. The sight nearly brought him to his knees.

“Love,” he whispered, brushing her hair back. “Who did this?”

Her voice was barely a breath. “Luca… your cousin. He said I didn’t belong to you.”

Angelo’s jaw clenched. “You do belong to me. And now he’ll belong to the earth.”

He kissed her desperate, trembling, fierce. “You’re mine. You’re the only thing that makes me feel human.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” *he said, hand tightening around hers.? “But Luca is.”

And somewhere in the night, vengeance began to breathe.